We boxed the corner of the standing corn. Sam in the ditch at the point, Mark forty yards to the north and me fifty yards downhill to the east.
Dana, Adam and Chad, who already had a rooster in his game bag were busting up through the ten foot stalks. They whistled, they howled like coyotes and shouted. There were pheasants and quail feeding on the corn and as the guys approached, they ran skittering away toward our corner, to circle on the ground or take, squawking, to the air.